


Fuck You, I Love You

by Whispering_Sumire



Category: Supernatural
Genre: (roundabouts), Adorable, Alternate Angelic Lore, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angels, Angst, BAMF Dean Winchester, BAMF Sam Winchester, Brotherhood, Brothers, Canon-Typical Violence, Chick-Flick Moments, Consensual But Not Safe Or Sane, Dreamwalking, Falling In Love, Families of Choice, Family, Family Feels, Fluff, Friendship, Happy accidents, Heartfelt Conversations, Honesty, I Don't Even Know, I mean, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Torture, Kissing, M/M, Magic, Mating Rituals, Minor Suicidal Thoughts, Old Gods, Original Character(s), Personal Growth, Praying to Castiel, Praying to Lucifer, Silent Conversations, Soul Bond, Team Free Will, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, end of season 6, exploring heavenly dynamics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2018-07-27
Packaged: 2019-02-16 17:00:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 17,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13058286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whispering_Sumire/pseuds/Whispering_Sumire
Summary: Castiel touched him. He dimly remembers wondering what was happening because the two fingers to the side of the head move was most normally used toheal. But Sam hadn't been the one who was injured. Or, maybe, now that things are resurfacing within him he couldn't possibly voice, maybe he had been. Behind that wall. Irreparablydamaged. All Cas had done was bring it to the surface, shown it to him. His memories are stringy and hard to untangle, to translate inside the mind of sanity because they belong to a soul without a vessel trapped in a place where nothing makes a modicum of Earthly sense.Or: Where Sam remembers the Cage, and maybe it wasn't so bad after all?Or: Where Lucifer is surprised by human-ness (and, really, when is he evernot?)





	1. The Cage

**Author's Note:**

> I have no beta, but I swear to everything I tried my damndest. My apologies for all the spelling mistakes.  
> To anyone who reads this, I love you! Send a comment or kudos my way if you liked it! Muah!!

Castiel touched him. He dimly remembers wondering what was happening because the two fingers to the side of the head move was most normally used to _heal_. But Sam hadn't been the one who was injured. Or, maybe, now that things are resurfacing within him he couldn't possibly voice, maybe he had been. Behind that wall. Irreparably _damaged_. All Cas had done was bring it to the surface, shown it to him. His memories are stringy and hard to untangle, to translate inside the mind of sanity because they belong to a soul without a vessel trapped in a place where nothing makes a modicum of Earthly sense.

He's still going to try.

He's kind of got to now.

He remembers being in the Cage bodily, and he remembers the oddity of being inside Lucifer, being in his own mind and fully aware while he was possessed by a seriously pissed off archangel. He wasn't really touched, then, not for a while. Lucifer and Michael were far too busy with each other to pay any mind to him. He saw the blows they cast upon each other, some of them devastating his body, except his body was Lucifer's now, and he was just a corner in his own mind being ignored. It was pretty damn surreal.

Then there was Cas, and the hope that soared within him was dizzying. He was so excited, and he was screaming inside his own head, against Lucifers hold, just screaming at his friend. He was so sure that he was going to be saved.

The first person to hurt him inside of that cage was not Lucifer, nor was it Michael, it was Castiel. The worst part was not the agony that seared him as Castiel carved his soul out of his body, the worst part came after, when he watched the only thing that could possibly save him leave. It was devastating, and his soul was raw, open, vulnerable and there.

Terror does not come close to what he felt. Especially since, whether it was because he was without his body, or within the Cage, he could _see_. Vast immeasurable chaos entwined in feathers and light and energy that pulsated and raged, golden, beautiful, right next to him, _glaring_ with huge, violent eyes that resembled no color Sam could've recognized let alone fathom. Dragon. Energy. Immeasurable. _A multidimensional wavelength of divine intent, my ass!_

Though Sam supposes there's no other explanation, really, for what's in front of him. Michael still had his vessel, but Lucifer did not. A maw that was all atoms sparking and canting over each other opened, wrapped around the tendrils of winding light that was Sam's soul, and _snapped_ with a roar that shook the Cage at its very core. Even Michael seemed surprised.

All Sam could do was scream.

* * *

Lucifer would never feel sated of his wrath. His brother was already crumpled and mad, despite his species, and funnily enough, the human was the one still holding out. Still survived. Perhaps he had lost his mind, but unlike his brother, Sam still _stood_ , some days he even still _fought_. It would almost be admirable, if it weren't becoming so tiresome. Lucifer was used to the Cage, he'd been in it for so long, and whence he got his freedom he had planned never to come back. Yet here he was, bested by the Winchesters, by _Sam_. It was infuriating. More so because it felt like _betrayal_ , because Sam, however bright and gorgeously righteous his soul was, it was also the color of Will, of Rebellion, Gold. Sam was _his_. Perhaps it was because he felt this way that he underestimated him, that the sting of being thrown into his jail hurt obscenely more given the context of his _jailer_. No matter, Lucifer would make Sam pay. _Dearly_.

He gutted the boy's soul, eviscerated it and flayed it. He took apart the light that clung to the molecules, wrenching and twisting the red away from the hope and the bravery until the gold in that single piece of him was diluted to a brown. He did this to every particle, then scattered the particles across the realm that was the Cage like discarded beads of a cheap necklace and waited, because souls are resilient. They come back together with a magnetic pull that doesn't disappear no matter what you do. When Sams soul was just shy of whole, Lucifer ate him, gulping him down and relishing in the raw shrieks of unbidden emotion that licked at him from inside. When the soul passed, he changed his colors, he recreated him, shattered him, enjoyed his toy, tortured his warden.

Years passed.

Lucifer got bored.

Sam stopped screaming.

And so Lucifer did what he had always done before, after all, he's a very patient being. He waited.

* * *

Sam had truly seen Lucifer, and he kind of wonders whether Lucifer meant for him to, or not. Sam is probably suffering from stockholm syndrome, but at this point, he's too broken and lost to care. It's not like there are any repercussions for falling in love with his torturer at this point, right? And besides, he knew so, so much more about Lucifer, now, than he ever had before. It's very easy for a soul and an angels essence to entangle, apparently, and when said angel is raw with bitter rage it's very easy to get a glimpse at their mind while they tear you to shreds. Especially after you stop fighting long enough to _look_.

Lucifer was really, very small. Everything is small compared to God, and even then, Sam is beginning to think God is just a gardener who planted a seed that was essentially a molecule of randomness, and he didn't know what the fuck he was doing. So he ran away. Sam knows now that Lucifer and Michael were God's first creations to _stay_ created, that all of his other creations got swallowed whole by his sister, and God had a sister, who knew? The Darkness, who God used Michael and Lucifer to trap. Then he put that horrible Darkness, which he had to lock away in order to permanently make anything, under Lucifers skin. And Lucifer suffered, changed. Darkness will do that to you, no matter how bright God makes you. In fact, sometimes, the brighter you are, the worse the damage is.

Lucifer rebelled because Faith is an impossible thing when it stops making sense, because no one should have to suffer an ass-hole of a father. Sam recognizes the similarity, he knows how he felt about John Winchester, he realizes that's part of the reason why he was such a perfect vessel for Lucifer in the first place. God treated his son like a soldier, and his son had too much free-will and flaws to stand it without fighting back. Asking for answers, raging, childish. He wanted attention, more love than he received, and he lashed out. Like a fucking kid.

Because he _was_ , however old he might've been by human standards he was so goddamned young, and the first thing God did in response to his son's cloying was _disown_ him, lock him away. Sam was beginning to understand that locking problems away was kind of a go-to move for God. His sister wasn't allowing anything to grow so he turned her into a grotesque mark. Leviathan, the first beasts, were eating everything up, so God created purgatory. Lucifer was throwing tantrums so God created Hell. People were dying so he created Heaven. Everything has a home. Tidy, certainly, but fucked up all the same.

Lucifer had gotten rid of the mark, by now, Sam knew, given it to Cain of all people, and knowing that, a lot of the lore about Cain actually makes much more sense. Lucifer was still marred, and at that point, utterly abused by his situation, his family, and people in general. There is no pity in what Sam feels for the fallen archangel, just a sad sort of sympathy, followed by the want to forgive him, and to hold him. Perhaps part of the reason for that last part was that pain can make you ache for tenderness, prolonged agony gives way to longing, need, just an acute want. There wasn't even any pain anymore, not for a long time, Lucifer hadn't touched him, and at this point Sam was desperate. Any touch, even a violating, desecrating one, would be welcome at this point.

The Cage was fucking _lonely_.

* * *

He expected many things of Sam, now. Delirium, screaming (as per usual), terror, perhaps rage. It came as a complete surprise, however, when the tortured soul, which was now filled with dark terrible colors that Lucifer himself had put there, _sang_. Tendrils of light wisped and curled with melodies that bubbled from the boy unhindered. It was a soft, delicate refrain, with a lilting melody. The song was filled with truth, and resignation, and _forgiveness_ , and _love_. Lucifer shivered. The intensity of the emotions echoed throughout the Cage, which was a rotting terrible place that did not deserve to be in the presence of something so goddamn pure. And how was this even possible? Because the soul was coming closer to his muzzle, and the song fluttered sweetly toward him as the boy who he had ripped apart with his mind, his essence, his claws, and his teeth fucking _embraced_ him. The soul held Lucifer tenderly like he was a small child, and the song reverberated against Lucifer's essence, deep, slow, immaculate. Lucifer shuddered, and for the first time since his Father had abandoned him, he had truly wanted to cry.

 _What are you doing, Sam?_ he whispered into the ludicrous light that curled into him blindingly, adoringly. There was no answer, but the song got stronger, and somehow, prettier. It was like a lullaby. But Lucifer was still so confused, he needed answers, needed to know what the fuck was going on, because this was honestly terrifying him. He tried to glare, open his mouth to nip, to retaliate, and as he did his essence responded to the lullaby and Lucifer felt an overwhelming hope, a kindness that made his eyes water fill him, because Sam was praying _to_ him. An honest to god prayer that went straight through him, seeping into his heart and unfurling an old decayed warmth he hadn't felt for an eternity.

It had been so long since anyone had prayed to him like this, prayed to him like he was still an angel, made him _warm_ instead of _cold_.

* * *

Sam smiled (or at least he thought he did, he still wasn't very sure how being a naked soul exactly worked) when Lucifer's eyes fluttered closed, the angel was shaking under him, beginning to breathe him in. It might've been Sams imagination, but Lucifer actually seemed to be preening at his prayer, his song, and so Sam kept singing to him, kept holding onto him, wrapping around him as tightly as he could manage. It was so soothing, and it felt as screwed as it felt _right_ to be touching this earnestly. Shamelessly, because agony is something that makes shame seem rather pointless after awhile, Sam cuddled into Lucifer. 

Praying. Hoping. Forgiving. Singing. _Breathing_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapters comin' soon :)


	2. Kissing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shenanigans happen, because shenanigans _always_ happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... This is mostly for the fluff, but smut will happen at some point, lol  
> I thought they deserved to just be adorable with each other for awhile. As always, apologies for spelling errors, I hope you enjoy!

Lucifer felt like he was on fire, like electricity and power he hadn't experienced in so long was spasming throughout him by the time Sam was done. Not that Sam necessarily stopped of his own volition. Michael, who had been a snotting terrified debilitated mess until now, had witnessed what was happening. In a wave of rage and adrenaline his brother had ripped Sam off of him, and had been dismayed where Lucifer was just surprised, to find that it was extremely hard to pull them apart at first. Flecks of feathery gold clung to dimmer, tortured flaxen curls of light, and it almost took more strength than Michael could muster to shed Sam off of him.

The sound Sam's soul made was pitiful, demanding, and devastated all at once. Then, to both of the archangels' amazement, it was _pissed_. Michael had already spent himself separating them, and Lucifer, who was having a hard time reconciling with his new state, didn't have enough time to react to anything before Sam was at Michael's throat. The soul warped and growled and dug and scratched, Michael fussed, wrung his hands, tried to say something that couldn't quite reach his lips before he got knocked out. The archangel splayed across the floor of their prison by Sams enraged soul, which was still growling, light somehow brighter and louder than it was mere seconds ago.

This made no sense, Lucifer was thinking as the soul rounded on him, what is he doing? He just made me more powerful than I have been in millennia, and now he is going to fight me? Lucifer couldn't wrap his mind around any of it, he was too blissed-out, too high on the prayer Sam had offered. And it didn't make any sense to think that the reason Sam had gotten so upset was that they were separated, the reason he basically sucker-punched Michael being that he either did not want to be interrupted, or, even less realistic, that he wanted to _protect_ Lucifer.

His reasonings were all shattered when the boy climbed on top of him, trying to soothe his own wrath, and had simply cooed comfort into his feathers. The song, Sam's prayer, became aggressively possessive, and sweet, and healing. Lucifer could still feel the echoes of feral anger but _all_ of it was directed at Michael. Lucifer snorted in disbelief.

 _What are you doing, Sam?_ the archangel repeated, ignoring the way his feathers wanted to fluff up. However much his feathers may be woven with light and chaos and prayer, they for all the world liked to act like they belonged to a bird. Lucifer still felt kind of heady, it was odd, that having a prayer constantly bathing him like this would make him feel so intoxicated.

In response to the question the soul, which momentarily forgot that it did not have a vessel, but completed the gesture anyway, _kissed him_! Right atop his head. Gentle, lovingly, placed a kiss as Sam continued to hum little prayers of serene sort of affection. Much to Lucifers chagrin, he lost any and all control of his feathers at that point, because there had really been too many surprise attacks launched on him today.

* * *

Sam could feel Lucifer reeling from everything. He didn't really know how, because normally he could only climb into the archangels subconscious when he was in a terrible shredded sort of state, where a piece or two of his matter got stuck in Lucifers teeth or something and Sam was too pained to hold onto himself and instead let go and got lost inside a memory or a feeling for awhile. Something that didn't belong to him. But right now, he wasn't in that floaty dissociative state, he wasn't even trying, and he could feel Lucifer in his light, under his soul, feeling very disgruntled because he couldn't figure out what was going on at _all_. He was confused and convinced there was no possible way Sam could be doing any of this for his sake, and Sam thought for a moment that Lucifer and Dean are actually a lot alike. Self-loathing, scared, childish, immature, and falling off of the edge of the world with nothing to hold onto because no one ever took the time to tell you: you're worth it. You're worth it, hold onto me so you don't fall because falling isn't something you _deserve_.

Lucifer was asking him a question again, one Sam couldn't possibly answer, he didn't have a mouth anymore, how was he supposed to talk? But right now he desperately wanted to show this being he was loved, wanted to soothe him, tell him it was okay, that it wasn't right for Michael to keep his own brother from receiving comfort. For a moment Sam was at a loss, and then, mostly on instinct, he moved his soul toward the top of Lucifer's head, which Sam was slowly beginning to notice, was cat-like underneath all of the feathers and light, and he kissed him. He was surprised to feel a surge of something like heat, or embarrassment, or a blush (could archangels blush?) ripple in a wave beneath him before he was in a bed of fluff.

Feathers puffed out all around him, dense and all poofy, soft, happy. Sam giggled at this, because he was positive now, that Lucifer was essentially blushing in the biggest way possible, and it was all his fault.

* * *

The soul atop him became restless and was crackling with little snaps and sparks. It dawned on Lucifer after a full three minutes of this mingled with prayers that were far more breathy that the soul was _laughing_ , and Lucifer only had three more seconds to be shocked by this before something even more astounding happened. Sam kissed him again, still sparking a little with laughter, still humming a quiet song/prayer, the golden-black soul kissed him on the tips of his feathers, on the base of them. To the archangels confusion, the now utterly _delighted_ soul kissed everywhere it could reach. Sam traveled along every feather, every molecule and naked piece of light.

The feathers fluffed impossibly more, and Lucifer growled at them for not listening to him, but the soul-sparks of laughter just increased, like Sam was enjoying his inability to control his biology, and for whatever reason, this made Lucifer let it go for now.

The kisses did not hesitate at his claws, like Lucifer thought they might, there was no fear, just forgiveness, kindness, hope. If anything the prayers got stronger when Sam kissed these more dangerous places, which was ridiculous, because the warmth inside of Lucifer was reaching a fever-pitch, and he had been _frozen_ for so long that he had absolutely no idea what to do when faced with this kind of attention.

After a long session of the soul kissing everywhere else, it had gotten to his neck, and Lucifer was practically melting, all of his feathers sufficiently prayed to, kissed, and groomed by staticky luminescent soul fingers. Sam kissed his cheeks tentatively, the prayer suddenly becoming such a vivid outpouring of love that Lucifer started, trying to escape from it. It was too close, too strong, too _much_. His whole body flinched back, but the soul followed, capturing him and kissing the other cheek with just as much tenderness.

If Lucifer was something that needed to breathe, his breath might've hitched at this moment.

 _Do you love me, Sam?_ Lucifer asked warily, like there was no way to answer that question correctly, and because he knew he was wrong about this. There was just no way that was what was going on. Not after everything he'd done to Sam. Forgiveness and love could not be granted to the deceiver, not by God, let alone a soul he'd all but slaughtered over and over again for thousands of years.

Sam faltered, paused for a minute, and then did something that looked for all the world like he was rolling his eyes _fondly_ , before halting his song/prayer for only a second, long enough to kiss Lucifer half-condescendingly and half-lustfully directly on the lips. Sam pulled back, kind of expectantly, and Lucifer felt the volcano that this boy had been steadily building inside of him suddenly erupt.

 _Of course_ Sam loved him. He was a Winchester. He was Sam. Lucifer was terrible, falling in love with him made no sense, made about as much sense as throwing yourself sacrificially into Hell to save the world. This pissed him off a little, but it also made him feel something else entirely, something he couldn't quite place.

Before he even had any awareness, Lucifer was licking the light in front of him, pampering with his tongue, kissing back fervently. Sam was a little stunned, but before long, his soul was softening against the touch. Light and color blended, canted, keened back and forth between the archangel and the soul. Lucifer was dimly aware that neither of them really knew what they were doing, but it felt good, and sticky, and lovely, and beautiful.

It felt really fucking beautiful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More still to come! Also, drop a comment, tell me if there was anything about this scene you liked <3


	3. Hello, Goodbye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tasting and tickling each other is fun, but alas, all good things come to an end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I love you guys who actually read this, you're awesome! Send me a comment or something ;)  
> Also, apologies for spelling errors and etc., I did my best, and I hope you like it.

Sam writhed against Lucifer's too rough tongue as it laved against his soul. He wondered, in a distant bliss-fog of thought, what he tasted like, or if a tongue made of light and destiny and color and providence could even _taste_ in the first place. He shivered, tendrils of soul-light curling up under a few feathers smokily, like he was trying to embrace. Lucifer hummed appreciatively in response, his tongue slowing a little lazily as he snuffed at Sam. Sam's soul sparked out a little laugh, because the breath was so ticklish and unusual. With something like a slack-happy grin (one that entertained Sam to no end, because how does something like this even manage a _grin_?), Lucifer continued huffing, licking at the sparks that flew off of Sam's soul when he guffawed. It was the most serene, relaxing tickle-fight ever.

They played with each other like this for a very long time, long enough that, while Lucifer was doing a particularly smug, attentive licking move and Sam was responding with a complicated wispy soul move of his own that was two parts gleeful and one part curious, Michael woke up. Sam immediately put himself between Lucifer and his brother, growling aggressively at the other archangel, willing him to try and separate them again. Michael just looked at them owlishly for a long moment, unreadable emotions playing across his face before he crumpled and cried, backing away whilst muttering _what have you done? What have you done?_ to himself over and over again. Sam stared incredulously at him as he crawled away before turning back to Lucifer who was blinking at him with wide eyes.

 _You're trying to protect me,_ it was a statement, the question was left in the air (along with something that could've been awe, though Sam wasn't sure), but it was already answered, and even if it wasn't, Sam had no words for him, let alone the ability to speak them. So, he just went to Lucifer's snout and nuzzled into the feathers around his nose, licking light into them, singing a soft song of comfort, hope, and joy.

Lucifer seemed to decide something in that moment, though Sam found it impossible to decipher what, and the dragon-like creature (which, the more he looked at him, the harder it was for him to believe he was just _angel_ , because goddamn if he didn't look like a muddled version of every mythological beast imaginable woven together with golden light and pure fire) began to playfully lick him again, as if it was the most natural thing.

Sam knew that it wasn't, and silently, as he leaned into the ministrations, beginning to reciprocate, wondered why Lucifer was letting this happen, letting him take it this far? Sam had seen all the pain the fallen angel had collected like rainwater in a bucket that was left out during a storm. Only, the rain never stopped, and the bucket just kept getting bigger and bigger to accommodate. Suffering. Lucifer had suffered so, and Sam began to think, maybe he liked him better as he was now. Not just because Lucifer wasn't hurting him in this moment, though that was a plus, but because it was like, in this simply happy, worshipful moment, the fact that Lucifer was depressed, and terrified, and angry was just a little less true. And that was wonderful.

* * *

Lucifer was half lost in chasing after the taste of soft, and sweet, and pliable, and clouds pregnant with snow, when he felt Death approaching. He kissed softly, and then stopped, pulled away from the boy he himself had broken, because he knew what was coming next. Death could only be coming for one reason. Dean. The older Winchester had done something, and Sam was about to be saved. The soul in front of him unfurled, reached out worriedly, tried to pull him back in with a whining plea like he somehow knew something was wrong.

Lucifer shook his head, and slowly, gently, because hurting Sam was no longer an option, untangled them. Sam began to whimper and cry, mourning the loss of the connection, trying to hold on to it desperately. Lucifer blew on him chidingly and continued his work, unweaving his feathers from the bolts of wine and thunder and fear that was Sam's soul. Sam, seemingly at a loss for what else to do, stopped fighting it, and sang, louder than Lucifer had ever heard him, a terrified, brave, keening sound. The song/prayer was so heart-sick, bursting with so much _love_ and _need_ for Lucifer that the angel stuttered in his movements, almost heeding the human before him. Still, he forced himself to continue despite everything, and once every last thread of their energies was separated, stepped back as the soul sang so shrill, loud, and fearful that it was honestly painful.

 _Hush, Sam, you're being rescued, I will not keep you in this place any longer._ Lucifer said in a soft, imploring, tender way that surprised even himself. All of a sudden the soul shrieked, cried out and reached for him in a haphazardly desperately urgent movement that was aborted halfway when Death scooped it up, and stuffed it nonchalantly into a suitcase, as if Sam was just a piece of business to stifle away and be done with. Lucifer could not stop the small growl that erupted in the back of his throat, but he made no move to stop the skeletal figure.

Death regarded him with intrigue for a while.

"You let him go," Death finally said with curious amusement, eyebrows lifting, "I was expecting I would have to tear him away from you and your brother's stubborn temerity, but you let him go?"

Lucifer curled into a ball, resting his chin on his wing as much as his shoulder, he wasn't about to explain. Somehow it seemed irreverent to tell the ancient reaper that he was, somehow, in all the ways that ever mattered, in love with Sam; to tell him that he knew he could waste away in the Cage and still _be himself_ whenever he managed to get free, but that Sam would lose family, friends, and time, perhaps even his mind considering how close he was already. Right now, more than anything, Lucifer wanted Sam to be able to keep all of those things, loathed the idea of being the one to make him lose them. It was incredibly foreign to want something so dearly for someone other than himself, but the aftertaste on his tongue kind of made it worth it, not to mention the honey-thick warmth of prayer in his belly, least of all the hope (which was very new indeed) that made him feel like flying for the sheer fun of it.

 _Yes,_ he answered simply, although it was anything but, and with that, though the gesture shocked the Reaper and probably only served to make him more confused, Lucifer smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapters coming soon, heavy angst stuff in their future, along with some BAMF-y-ness!


	4. Eggs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Sam is Starving and Cas is stupid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so, so sorry if this chapter is late, let alone riddled with misspellings. I've been swamped with christmas and family reunions and irl and fml, lol  
> I tried my best, I hope you enjoy it!!  
> Muah!

_Need_. The first word, the first and most powerful emotion he's ever felt in his entire life, he feels when his remembrance pitfalls into consciousness. His eyes flutter open and he's overwhelmed with this raw and honest need.

"Lucifer," he breathes, because he _wants_ him there. He wants feathers and tongue and gold, he wants memory and emotion and amusement mingled with annoyance. He even wants pain. It takes him a long while to register that he's got a body, even longer to realize where he is and the danger of the situation at hand.

Because of course, Castiel was being an idiot.

He whines as he strains himself to get up, and he holds back a quiet sob as an empty ache eclipses his being. He _needs_ so violently it's getting a bit hard to breathe, let alone think.

 _Lucifer_ , he prays, _I've gotta help my brother, and keep Cas- keep Cas from being- but I can't, not without you. God, how did I forget? How could I? Lucifer..._

* * *

Dean was in the middle of talking Cas down, talking him off of a ledge he already knew damn well the angel had long since jumped off of. Sam had crept in, quieter than he thought he was capable of in his state, and had sat on one of the middle steps of the rusted metal staircase that led into the room. It was grimy, but he couldn't bring himself to care, he'd spent much longer being a naked soul than he had with a body at this point and, honestly, moving around in a material casing instead of just being a ball of light was fucking weird.

He must be hungry, which is a sensation he couldn't have possibly noticed against the hollow want inside of him, because Dean says something about power scrambling Cas' brain and the first thing that comes to mind is that age-old anti-drug add:  
 **This is your brain,** sizzle, **this is your brain on drugs!**

And now his mouth is watering and he desperately wants eggs, maybe toast, too.

Dean goes on to say he's lost everyone, including Sam, and he doesn't want to lose Cas too. Sam sighs inwardly. Here goes nothing.

"No," he says, before Castiel can respond because he's sure whatever the angel was going to say would've been shitty to hear, "still alive, still mostly in control of my faculties; no one's lost me. Came pretty close, though, if I'm bein' honest." Because there had been a moment when he was walking through car parts and he saw something particularly sharp and part of him was screaming that if he just cut himself open until there was nothing left maybe he could evade the _empty_ that was shadowing him.

Everyone's eyes lept to him, resting lazily against the rail. He waved at them as if it were nothing, as if he was saying hi to old friends, instead of literally evading the permanent coma they'd all assumed he'd slip into if ever the mental wall between him and the Cage was scratched let alone _fucking demolished_.

Castiel says something that Sam doesn't entirely catch because there's still this manic fog curling into him and pressing against his eyes until everything is blurry and not quite there. He does, however, recognize how unapologetic Cas is, and how pissed Dean is getting. His big brother is saying some pretty brave things considering they should be walking on eggshells- Ah, there it is again. _Goddamn_ would food be good right now. They're snapping at each other when Cas finally claims that he's the new God, capital G, and Sam snorts.

"You're _a_ God, certainly," Sam says evenly, he supposes he should be scared at this point, but he really isn't. He's so ravenous for Lucifer, for food, for feathers against his bared soul, for torture just to remind him what's real, that Death would be more welcome than not; and besides, he has a score of Lucifers memories, he knows Castiel better than he knows himself at this point. He knows that the angel just swallowed purgatory and all that comes with it, and Dean was right, that's a nuke waiting to happen, Cas will go boom before he can fully realize his epically fucked up power trip. He knows that Castiel was an archangel before he got demoted to seraph, and that his mind had been fucked with repeatedly by many other angels, to the point he doesn't even _remember_. He doesn't _know_ why other angels fluctuate between intimidated, flabberghasted, and sometimes arrogant around him. He doesn't know or _understand_ why Lucifer and Gabriel know _him_ so well, treat him as if he were practically an equal, for all that he is younger.

Castiel retorts with something flippant that makes him seem for all the world like a petulant child. Sam sighs, he wishes he could make out words better. He wishes that sound wasn't just wet air that shimmied, that it made more sense.

"Create, Castiel, put up, or shut up. _Make_ something!" He shouts at the twisted angel, conglomeration of demented souls. Castiel frowns, tries something, fails, shakes his head and moves to respond, but Sam cuts him off, "Your Father _made_ , Castiel, all you can do now is _destroy_. So, yes, you've achieved some level of Godhood, at least, until the souls inside rebel against their host. Which they will, Cas, have no doubts about that. They'll eat your heart out, but not before turning you into something unforgivable, so go on, Cas, really, go on."

The angel shakes his head with a smug sort of smile, says something about forgiveness, and without the comforting sounds of wingbeats, is gone. Dean turns on him, then, relieved, pissed, and all big brotherly in that stupid surly way of his. He's confronting him, probably wondering where the hell the capacity to monologue like that came from, and Bobby is coming toward him on the stairs like he's some sort of feral animal. He kind of is at this point, he reasons, but he doesn't move. His throat feels like a tennis-ball is lodged inside, and his mind is reeling with the fact that it's working in tandem with his soul instead of the other way around, and his body doesn't want to move anymore unless it's toward a blonde haired blue eyed bastard.

Sam is pretty sure he's gone insane.

He also really, really wants some eggs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More chapters soon, also, actual dialogue between characters soon, I promise! Sammy was just a mite fucked up this chapter. And yes, I do believe Castiel is a mind-fucked archangel, sue me, it fits.


	5. Fuck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Sam's a little too honest and Dean is a little too screwed for his liking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys enjoy, and many hugs and kisses to those of you who take the time to read. A ginormous cuddle hug to those of you who comment and leave kudos 'cause you're all the bomb.  
> As always, apologies for any errors, they're all my own, and for all I try my best, I'm only human.

Sam eats fervently, greedily, happily. Dean and Bobby are in the booth across from his, very obviously worried, watching him with disconcerted wariness.

"You okay, Sammy?" Dean eventually asks tentatively.

"No," Sam answers honestly, for all that he is enjoying the food, without Lucifer he just isn't _whole_. It doesn't escape him that normally he would lie about something like that, and would be saying he was fine, no matter his actual condition. He wonders what it was exactly about his time in the Cage that brought him to the realization that lying just wasn't _worth_ it. Maybe it has something to do with giving into his feelings for Lucifer.

Dean's eyebrows shoot up, he looks downright shocked that Sam was, in any way, willing to divulge that information. Sam shrugs.

"Agony precludes shame," he explains as he shovels another bite of eggs into his mouth. Dean's eyes darken at that, but he doesn't say anything, just lets the information hang in the air like the gut-wrenching thing that it is.

"Okay," Dean sighs, more to himself than anything, like he's trying to rearrange his thoughts, trying to figure out what to do next. Sam sympathizes, he gets how much he's freaking his brother out right now, but he can't be any different than what he is, what he's _become_. He's not the same Sam that they knew before he lost his soul or after he got it back, he's _different_ in that innate way that comes with _age_ , _time_ , and _experience_. He's so much older now, it's almost ridiculous to think that, linearly speaking, he was young Sam mere hours ago, simply because he didn't remember. It's almost funny, and maybe he would've laughed if it weren't so goddamn _lonely_. He had thought the Cage was lonely, but that's nothing compared to how he feels right now without Lucifer in his arms. He's pretty sure Dean would kill him if he ever voiced that.

"Okay," Dean says again, like the word is an anchor, "but what the hell happened back there? Because what you said to Cas, man, that wasn't- it wasn't _shameless_ , it was damn near suicidal."

"It was the truth," Sam tells him, "and I think I _am_ a little bit suicidal right now, so, you know, par for the course."

"Wait, _what_?" Dean seems incredulous, and even Bobby looks taken aback by what he just said. He's starting to get how fucked up the whole Winchesters-don't-talk-feelings family tradition is now, because are they seriously more shocked that he _said_ it than they are that he _feels_ it?

"Isn't it better to know?" Sam waves a fork at them, as if it will erase the baffled anxiety that's currently coming off of them in waves, "Now you can hide the knives and all the guns and everything." He doesn't add that it wouldn't stop him if he really put his mind to it, but he knows he doesn't need to. Dean's jaw is tightened and Sam wonders if those pearly whites are cracking with whatever he's doing to them. Bobby shakes his head.

"What's _wrong_ with you, boy? You're just gonna throw your life away aft-"

"No. There are still things to do, and I kind of want to know what'll happen to the world after Castiel explodes. I want to die, yes, but Death always comes, and Life always goes. I spent thousands upon thousands of years in the Cage, if I have learnt _nothing_ else, I have learned patience." With that, he focuses wholeheartedly on his eggs. His companions seem too stunned and shocked to respond, and he feels no small amount of amusement at the fact that Dean's face is red and his mouth is opening and closing and he looks somewhat like a cherry crossed with a fish.

* * *

Dean is pacing back and forth in Bobby's garage trying very hard not to worry about his little brother and how much he's _changed_. Tact and shame are out the window, apparently. Then, there's the overwhelming _apathy_ , like he can't bring himself to feel much more than the memory of what happened to him. And there's Cas. Sam seems extremely sure of himself when he says the angel's shelf life is now pretty goddamn close to zero and Dean's wondering why the hell he's more freaked out about that than he is about what exactly Castiel will be _doing_ with all his new-found power during that time. How the hell can you miss and mourn someone who betrayed that deeply?

His thoughts are interrupted by Bobby coming in, and the sound of harsh rain barely being silenced when he shuts the door behind him. Bobby eyes the Impala and winces at her state, she's seen worse before, but it always sucks when she gets put out of commission.

"He settled in okay?"

"As settled in as any suicidal devil-may-care person _can_ be, I suppose," Bobby says gruffly. Dean sighs and resumes pacing.

"I knew it was a long time," he says agitatedly, "I mean Death said time works in over-time in the Cage, that it's even worse than Hell, but did you hear him? Sam said he'd been there for _thousands_ of years! And is it just me or does he seem--" Dean can't come up with a word and just starts exasperatedly throwing his hands around, as if that'll make much more sense than his rambling.

"Older?" Bobby supplies. It's true enough, that's part of it. Sam has a maturity to him now that he didn't have before, but it's more than that; there's this clever loneliness in him that makes Dean think of, God help him, _Lucifer_ , because underneath all that rage that's how Lucifer always acted. Clever and lonely. And he's not even going to _try_ to read too much into why his little brother only seems so desolate and _alone_ and full of longing _after_ having remembered the Cage, because he has a feeling that train of thought is going to crash into a very terrible realization that'll only serve to piss him off and he doesn't think Sam can afford the brunt of his rage right now.

"Jesus _Christ_ , Bobby. What the hell are we gonna do?" Dean asks, letting the desperation he feels seep into his words because he's too goddamn exhausted to hide that right now.

"Hunt. Try to figure out how to fix this Cas thing. Worry. That's about all we _can_ do." Bobby shrugs, like it's just that easy. Dean supposes it is, considering, there really is nothing else they can do, except maybe pray, but the only person he'd ever consider praying to fell off the deep-end like a jack-ass and took Sammy with him. Dean sighs and sinks down against the wall defeatedly.

"Fuck."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sam got his eggs!!! lol  
> More chapters soon, I pinky-swear.


	6. So, You're Praying to Lucifer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Lucifer gets renewed warmth, and the brothers Winchester talk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All spelling errors are my own, I did my best, please don't hate me.  
> I hope it's not too wall-of-text-y this time :)  
> Warning - This chapter is pretty dialogue heavy.

Sam has been living for weeks since Castiel flew the cuckoo's nest, Dean's tried once or twice to get him on board for a hunt or research or google or _anything_ , but he's been decidedly unresponsive. He's just been _living_ , and doing all that that requires, which includes enduring the unbearable agony of ache that threatens to destroy him with every passing moment.

He's also been praying, every single chance he gets. Sometimes he'll sing, like he did in the Cage (which freaks Dean and Bobby the hell out, but they've yet to say anything), sometimes he'll pass on those inconceivably loud, bright emotions of longing, sometimes he'll just tell him what's going on. Castiel has set out to un-fuck the world, apparently, destroying cults, violently eschewing any form of debate and opting for commandments and intimidation in the face of homophobia, white-supremacy, animal abuse, and just about anything else he deems 'unholy'. Sam wonders how much he's already put Heaven through considering the damage he's doing to Earth.

Sleep takes him hard nowadays, because being awake is exhausting, and missing Lucifer is debilitating, and watching the rest of his family frown and drink and worry and fuss around him is just sickening. So, he takes to sleep like he takes to air, and he doesn't bother to wake when the sun rises or when his muscles ache from disuse or when Bobby is shaking him _hard_ for the third time today with a worried growl.

Dean thinks he's depressed.

Dean isn't entirely wrong.

So he sleeps, heavy, dreamless.

He prays.

* * *

Lucifer has no clue as to what happened, because after Sam had gone the Cage had seeped the warmth of prayer from his bones until he felt hollow and lonesome and brooding, hours felt like days, and he _longed_ to see bright green and gold and dark, he ached and worried and missed and felt actual horrible _guilt_ for the things he had done to that little soul. For a while he began to wonder if this was what it was like to slowly lose your mind, then it was just- _there_. Warm, insistent, neurotic and familiar and so fucking gorgeous. _Sam_. _Praying_.

He had missed it so much he had almost wept to feel it return. He soaked it in, he shivered as it crept into him, feverish, hot. It spoke of his brother, of purgatory, of Sam's brother, of Earth, of clarity and depression and such terrible _want_.

Sam, perfect, holy, tortured Sam- missed him. Fucking _missed_ him.

Goddamn if the feeling wasn't fucking mutual, in a frightfully desperate sort of way.

Sam shouldn't miss him, God, (really, it's gotten to this point? Where God is the only expletive that makes sense, everything else be damned?) he should _hate_ him for all that he's done. Lucifer didn't deserve this, didn't deserve anything Sam gave him, still didn't know _why_ he was giving him _anything_ after all this time. But Lucifer still basked in the glory of it, unable to stop, he still gulped the prayers in like a starved abused child being given milk and food and love for the very first time, and maybe that's what this was; maybe that was the only explanation he could give for why he felt so full and happy and warm and empty and raw and carved out and vulnerable all at once, maybe that's why it was so overwhelming.

He wasn't as surprised or as uncomfortable as he probably should've been when he found himself praying _back_. He'd never prayed to or worshipped anything as fervently as he did Sam.

He loved Sam more than he had ever loved God, more than he had ever loved himself, more than he had ever hated humanity, and wasn't that something?

* * *

Sam was sitting cross-legged on the bed, back against the wall, hands limp in his lap and head tilted up with his eyes closed. He was half-singing, half-humming, nonsense phrases and silky melodies and mindless words passing his lips, every single one sounding so goddamned _reverent_ , that if Dean didn't know any better, he'd think his brother was some kind of monk. As it was, he looked for all the world like he was meditating. That's how he was nowadays, sleeping, eating, bathroom breaks, and weird meditative states. He hadn't really talked much at all after the diner, just became this- this- _this_. Whatever the fuck _this_ was. Dean certainly didn't have any goddamn names for it.

"Okay, seriously, what the hell, dude?" Dean finally asked in frustration, standing in the doorway and glaring daggers at his brother. Enough is _enough_ he figures, and his brother is on a truthful kick anyway, so maybe asking questions will help. Or at least _change_ something.

"Which Hell?" Sam asks, and smirks, the bastard. "You'll have to be more specific."

"No, I mean, what the hell? Why the fuck are you singing? Why won't you hunt? What's wrong with you?" Dean growls, expansively gesturing at his brother through his barrage of questions, trying to signify that this is about _him_ not inter-dimensional Demon inhabited cluster-fucks.

"I'm not singing, I'm _praying_ ," Sam corrects him. 

Deans eyebrows shoot up as he sputters, stepping further into the room and trying very, _very_ hard to rein in his anger, because: "What the ever loving _fuck_ , Sammy?"

"Hm?" Sam seems entirely uninterested in this conversation, and has made no move to open his eyes or sit up from the wall or _care_ , and it's really pissing Dean off.

"Who are you praying to?!" Dean finally snaps, louder and more aggressive than he meant, but mildly satisfying all the same.

"Lucifer," Sam responds, simply, as if this _weren't_ the most horrible confession he's ever made. Dean freezes, his breath coming in harsh, angry gasps now.

"So," he says, as calmly as he possibly can, because he did _not_ hear that right. No fucking way. "You're praying to Lucifer?"

"Yes, Dean."

"I can't fucking believe you."

"I'd imagined you'd be more pissed off when I tell you that I love him."

"You- what- how- he fucking _tortured_ you!"

"I forgave him. And before you say anything: No, it's not healthy, no, it's not stockholm syndrome, no, nothing you can do will ever make me stop, and no, it does not escape me how fucked up it is." Sam shrugs, and cracks his eyes open to look at Dean who's stock-still and shaking with fury, mouth gaping with bewildered shock, "I will continue to love him because my soul mapped out his grace long before I began to conceive of loving him, and I know him better than I know you, and I love him for all the flaws he thinks I should hate him for- and he _does_ think I should hate him- I will love him despite however unhealthy it is because none of our relationships are healthy anyway, and if I ever see him again, which I don't think I will at this point, we can work on it. I love him enough to _want_ to work on it.

"It is not stockholm syndrome because, for all that he was my torturer, I was his captor, and it can't even be that simple, it can never be _put_ simply, it's not even entirely human, it's not even entirely monstrous, it's not enough and it's too much all at once and I don't have the _words_ to explain this to you, Dean, because they don't exist. It's an impossible thing, and even that makes me love him all the more. He's a fucked up fallen archangel with daddy issues and abandonment issues and rage issues and an astounding amount of immaturity considering how clever he is and all the years he has on us; I'm a fucked up, fragile human vessel with daddy issues and commitment issues and rage issues and a decent capacity for wisdom and self-control, and possibly a fairly huge masochistic streak and I'm in love with him for all that he is, because he is.

"I am no coward, Dean. I am not afraid of Death, I am not afraid of the man that I love or the fact that I love him, I am not afraid of you, I am not afraid of God, and I am most certainly not afraid of the truth. Scream, throw punches, kill me if you wish, but I'm not going to fight you on this, you have every right to be angry, and I understand, and I forgive you, but I love him."

Sam smiles, languidly sits up from the wall, looks his brother square in the eyes and says with all the conviction and faith of a Catholic on death row: "I love him."

Dean feels kind of like someone punched him in the gut. He was angry, he was furious, he was so goddamned mad, but then- then Sam just kept talking, and even though there was still that sadness threaded through every single word, he was smiling for the first time since the wall broke. It was a proper, love-struck fool kind of smile. He'd only seen that expression on Sam once before, _once_ , when he was kissing Jess goodbye all those years ago. The completely gutted honesty that Sam just displayed was so _pure_ , and holy, and clean that it's hard to even reconcile it with the fact that it was the result of Lucifer, that it was _for_ Lucifer. Dean takes a deep, rattling breath, and sits on the edge of Sam's bed, his whole body sagging with something like resignation. This isn't something he can be angry about, something he can fight. It's too fucking big. It's bigger than the apocalypse, and Cas, and every fucking monster they've ever faced.

It kind of feels important, even.

Precious.

What the fuck?

"You love him." Dean finally repeats, because what the hell else is there to say?

"Yes," Sam tells him, and okay, that's it. He loves him.

"He love you?" Dean finds himself saying. That masochistic streak must be in the genes.

"He let me go."

"... What?"

"When Death came, he let me go. Even though he knew it would leave him alone, even though he knew the pain that would come with making that decision, he still let me go."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"Can I pray with you?"

"Hey Jude?"

"Yeah, yeah, sure."

_Hey, Jude, don't make it bad;  
take a sad song, and make it better_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, plot, because it really needed to happen, and it will for a few more chapters hence before Sammy and Lucy can get their reunion, sorry, so sorry.  
> Lucifer's reaction to Dean in the next chapter, zomg, I'm so excited!!  
> Sorry it's been awhile, I love you guys, I hope you enjoyed, drop some kudos or a comment, and I _will_ reply and love you forever, I promise.


	7. Hey, Lucifer, It's Me, Dean Winchester

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean thinks shit over, and Lucifer is right there with him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if this is a short and not super plotty chapter, I've had a lot of irl stuff going on lately, but I really wanted to get you guys _something_.  
>  As always, my only Beta is me, apologies for any mistakes.  
> To any and all who read, I love you, you're gorgeous, and thank you so goddamn much.  
> Leave some kudos and comments, tell me what you liked, what you hated, what you thought could be better, y'know.  
> Muah!!

Maybe it was Cas, Dean thought, absent-mindedly, as he uncovered the recovering Impala. It had been raining heavily in Sioux Falls for close to a month now, and he was still working tirelessly to get Baby back to perfect, he was just working in the garage instead of out in the yard like he normally would. It's cathartic if a little devastating.

Maybe it was Cas that got him hooked on praying. He realizes now that he had an almost constant line of thoughts headed the angel's way, subconsciously or not, heard or not, that rattled around his head unless he was actively calling the angel to them, for help more often than not. It had been comforting, and _right_ , and he hadn't even noticed until the idea of praying to Cas had become sickening how much he had actually relied on it. Well, as they say: You don't know what you've got until it's gone.

And it was most definitely gone.

Not praying had felt so goddamn disgustingly _wrong_.

It was a relief now, which is ironic considering who the new receiver was, to have someone to pray to again. To be given permission. It was still awkward sometimes, because, hello? _Lucifer_! But it was honestly better than nothing, and it was empowering to see what it did to Sam, when they prayed or sang or meditated together. This new Sam, who was so much older than him, but still his little brother, still the baby whose diapers he changed, whose first steps he coaxed, whose life he saved, whose death he mourned- this Sam who was serene and raw and honest and pure.

So pure it was terrifying.

So sad it was almost hopeless.

It was like he had to relearn their whole relationship, but there was a relief there too, because somehow, Sam really didn't expect anything from him anymore. Sam said he forgave him, before, during that inexplicable confession, and Dean knew, now, after spending much more time with him, he'd meant it for _everything_. It felt like apathy almost, hell, he'd assumed that's exactly what it was when they'd been in that diner after Cas went AWOL. It wasn't, though, it was this sort of fierce unconditional love that left no room for questions, that never stopped or moved or argued, that was impregnable and vast. Dean was certain now, with a clarity that frightened the shit out of him, that Sam would willingly accept death at his hands, maybe more. God, maybe a fucking _lot_ more. He supposes you'd need that kind of immeasurable, infinite forgiveness and love in order to be _in love_ with _Lucifer_.

Sam is depressed, but he's taking care of himself; in love, but not blinded by it. He doesn't expect Dean to protect, trust, or forgive him, though he's giving all of that in spades. It's so odd to feel like being someone's brother, not because you're inherently their brother by blood or circumstance, but because in the face of someone so honest and brave and loyal, you're given a choice: get out of the way, accept it, or die trying to refute it. He honestly would've thought he'd have chosen the latter, considering, but something about Sam changing, talking like that, being like that, it changed their whole relationship.

He felt like a weight was lifted off of his shoulders, though he still worried often enough.

He felt like praying to Satan.

He felt like telling the guy everything just so that he could work through it himself.

He felt like telling him not to break his baby brother's heart.

He felt like looking into keys that could unlock an ancient Cage.

* * *

When Lucifer first heard Dean join in the prayer, he had been sat there, wings unfurled, leaning toward the sky (not that there really was a sky in this place), and he had been so utterly astonished by it that he had almost fallen over in a very graceless, non-angelic way. The closest human word for it would've been _flail_. He'd been drinking all these prayers in, the ones from Sam, and they had made him feel warm and powerful and divine for the first time in so long, more than that, they had made him feel forgiven and wanted and loved. Sam's prayers were as jagged and sharp and broken as they were pure and raw and honest and holy. Precious.

Dean, when he began, had been singing his prayer with Sam in a quiet, tentative, resigned sort of way. It wasn't unpleasant. It wasn't the same. It was very, very different. He tries to remember now, what he must've felt like before when people prayed to him like he _meant_ something. He can't. He hadn't had enough time to experience it before everything got muddled and clouded with abandonment and cold. Being prayed to by one person was exalting. It was luminescent and kind and so very new. Adding Dean into the mix had made it feel searing, and hopeful, and joyous.

Like home.

Like family.

He never thought he'd be allowed to feel anything even close to this ever again. It is no small wonder that Sam was the one who gave it to him. And Dean prays like breathing, like he's absent-mindedly picking something raw because he just can't help himself. He prays like he worries. And Lucifer knows, now, that he worries _constantly_.

There was even Bobby, too, after awhile. Bobby who grouses and grumbles and seems more reluctant than the rest, but who thinks it'll help Sam and have no real lasting consequences, so once or twice a day joins in to growl hello. It's really rather odd.

Comforting.

Safe.

Only, Sam is unhappy. Missing Lucifer has translated into near suicidal tendencies, both Dean and Bobby have remarked on this. The fact that it's Sams longing for _him_ that's costing the boy somehow makes their prayers more urgent, more beseeching. It amazes Lucifer that Sam would be missing him in the first place, although, after all Sam has been doing, entrusting, giving, and loving, it really shouldn't.

Lucifer needs to contact him. To figure out a way to make Sam live, live like he _wants_ to live. And he doesn't even really know why it's so important to him, but it is. It _means_ something.

Sam _means_ something.

Lucifer is beginning to wonder if he misses him too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will have much more plot and Cas returning on the scene! I swear it'll come sooner than this one did. Thanks for being patient with me, my lovely wonderful readers.


	8. Fuck It, Let's Dreamwalk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Castiel realizes he needs help, and Sam and Lucifer Dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I have no Beta, so all the mistakes are mine, but I did my very, very best :)  
> I love all of you guys, thank you for reading!  
> Drop some kudos, maybe a comment, and I will worship you forever.  
> Muah!!!

He was all marred and mottled flesh with a vessel rejecting the disgusting things currently permeating it. At this point, Castiel honestly didn't know if he was just another one of the things his body was no longer willing to abide by.

He didn't know if he was something _he_ was willing to abide by.

He had succumbed to the punch-drunk lust of power and fury and righteousness, he had let his essence darken and accept, with no reluctance at all, the terror he could become with it. He had scarred Heaven and murdered thousands of his kin, he had thwarted humans who, really, knew no better, by killing them, torturing them with whatever he was.

What was he?

Winchester.

He needed to find a Winchester.

Why?

What was a Winchester? What was he? Where had he gone?

It was so dark now, in his mind, with the animals that clawed and howled in their triumph, with the beasts that would survive him, that were poisoning him. He thought dimly he might just float away if he closed his eyes for long enough. It made him think of butterflies and balloons and the Empty where everything Holy went when they died.

He didn't want to close his eyes, though keeping them open like this when his vessel so badly needed to _blink_ , because his vessel was so deteriorated now it needed the clever little minute things that made it human before, it _hurt_.

But he didn't want to sleep forever.

He didn't want to disappear under the weight of the many that he had swallowed, under the tyranny of this swarm.

He didn't want to die.

Why? Dying would be better than this, surely. Wouldn't it? But, no, he couldn't, that would be yet another betrayal. Someone still prayed to him. Whisper-soft, hidden little chatterbox filled with love and disappointment and fear. They prayed to him like they forgot they weren't supposed to, and it was a dull thrum throughout his mind, and with it, he knew he had to live.

He needed to apologize, to tell a little brother they were right, he was a cardboard cut out of a God at best.

Winchesters. He needed to find the Winchesters. _Now_ , before it was too late.

He's already lost their names, mostly, already lost his, lost time, lost everything. There's one little niggling piece of himself left, caught like a splinter against the coarse sandpaper that is all of the souls waiting to break that last little bit, take over, and escape.

* * *

Dean had finally, finally, finally found something. And thank fuck, because it doesn't matter how much he prays, how much Bobby does, it hasn't for awhile now. His little brother's smiles are brittle and every seam is just shy of tearing, he's all small waking moments and bleary eyes and trouble eating and heartbreak. He's so, so close to walking over an edge and never coming back, because he can't _live_ without him, he just _can't_ anymore. That kind of love, the kind of love he holds for the bastardized archangel, is so fierce that it could kill you. So much more, and so terribly precious, and too, too much to live without.

Sam needs Lucifer, in the desperate sort of way that starving men need food.

Dean will be damned if he doesn't do something about that.

And now, he's found a spell, a mildly rare one, and all he can hope, all he can _pray_ is that Lucifer sleeps. That he dreams.

* * *

Dean's prayers, normally with their constant staccato rhythm and worry, started ringing bright and crisp sometime yesterday, giving loud and clear instructions. So full of hope. Because apparently Sam needs him, and Dean will do whatever he can to help his brother. Despite Lucifer's trouble with authority and being given orders, he will follow every single one Dean gives him to a T. Because he _does_ miss Sam.

He wants the boy with the beautiful broken soul, who forgave his wrath, his life, his time, his deception, and who loved him with everything.

Sam loved him.

Whatever he can do to grant Sam peace, hope, or love. He's already committed, he's already so far gone on this, on _him_.

Part of him is just as desperate as Dean for this to work.

* * *

Sam had been a little hesitant to think that it would, that a _dream_ spell, of all things, could grant him the reprieve he so desperately needed. Yet there they were, in the soft edges, muted hues of sleep. There they were _together_.

That was Lucifer, in his old vessel, in all his impossibility, right fucking there.

"Lucifer," he breathes, wants, needs, _prays_ , "please tell me you're real."

Lucifer smiles, a small, happy little thing that Sam has never seen before, "as real as I can be. You?"

"Mmm," he hums in response, already moving, in long restless strides. Then they're clinging, holding onto each other so that there's no space between them, because they can't imagine another second, another centimeter of distance.

Held flush against each other, breathlessly, they start kissing. It's all wet, languid, sweet and hopeful and small, then deeper, rougher, needier, copper with teeth and want. It's like burnt sugar, morning mist, it hangs heavy and choking in the air and it drowns the both of them. The juxtaposition of their bodies gives way to an intimacy neither of them knew they were capable of, and as frantic and frenzied as it all is, as passionate and cloying, it's also love. So much fucking love, and neither of them can deny it, not after this. Not while they're hot and sweaty and moaning soft against warm, wet lips; not while they can't even tell where one ends and the other begins.

* * *

When Sam wakes sated and happy, he can hear the fleeting sound of ruffled feathers, can practically feel their shock against him, and he laughs a little breathlessly, half moaning. He really can't believe that worked.

 _Neither can I,_ he hears, deep-rough, quiet and wistful.

"Lucifer?"

_Sam?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I kept the love-making as vague as possible so I wouldn't have to change rating, and because I'm kind of better at subtle and mildly poetic than I am at hard-core? Like, I don't know, I hope it was okay?  
> New chapters soon!


	9. For Satan he sure is adorable, isn't he?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Sam and Lucifer are accidentally mostly bonded, and there's a surprise visitor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It gets a little ramble-y, but I'm of the personal opinion that that's a little bit how Dean's brain works, and this chapter is completely his POV... so... Oops?  
> My sincerest apologies for any errors, I have no Beta, and I did my absolute best.  
> I love you all, and I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint!

_"What."_

Dean was half-glaring, half-petulant, and maybe a centimeter amused. The past hour had consisted of Sam coming into Bobby's study practically vibrating with excitement as he told them that Lucifer was basically riding telepathic passenger in his head, and he'd been honest to god glowing, like all of the listlessness had crumbled in the face of all the hope, and happiness, and _life_ this fucking gave him. And he had rambled about the thing so fervently and wholly encompassed in it, sometimes telling them Lucifer's two cents, without so much as a pause.

Neither he nor Bobby had any chance to stop him until he finally stopped talking, and by then _several_ TMI subjects had been covered. Like, he didn't care at all they were family, he was too comfortable with it, with them, with Lucifer, it didn't even _occur_ to him to gloss over the intimate parts.

Which mildly reminded him of the conversation they'd had about Ruby, except, no, no it really didn't. That couldn't possibly compare. He knew now, what it was to see his brother manipulated, addicted, and loving vulnerable; that was what Ruby had been, and this was so different, so _fucking_ different that it kind of made him want to kill that black-eyed bitch all over again.

Honestly, even considering who was involved, this was so goddamn pure that Dean was surprised there weren't rainbows and fluffy clouds and pink glitter and unicorns covering the room by the time the babble-sesh was done.

It was _supposed_ to be a simple (well, not simple, when is magic _ever_ simple, but, goddamnit, as close to simple as it could possibly be) dream-spell. And, hell, it might've been, had there not been extenuating fucking circumstances. Because _apparently_ if the raw soul of a human mingles with the feathers of an angel, if said human prays to the angel and is actually prayed to in return, if both consummate their feelings in true-form and dream-form and physical-form, and if they love each other with the devotion an angel should only really devote to God, they become mated. Truly, completely, honest to god mated.

This ritual is now considered highly illegal in Heaven as Nephilims are no longer allowed, but once, ages ago when the human population was in the low hundreds and God allowed for a bit more freedom, for all that he was a prat (that being a point Sam and Lucifer agree vehemently on, and Dean doesn't really have it in him to defend the guy, after everything), he did not deny angels the ability and capacity to this kind of connection with humans. As long as all of the requirements were met.

Then they found out just how powerful Nephilims _were_ , and God ordered the angels to trap them all in another dimension, limbus puerorum (this is apparently a _thing_ God does, recklessly puts all the dangerous toys in unlocked boxes only _just_ out of reach with the expectation that his children will dumbly leave well enough alone, "Hasn't he ever heard of child-proofing?!" Sam had groused at one point, before giggling hysterically at whatever Lucifer had said in response.), before killing off all the human parents (they'd still be living, sort of, in Heaven, after, and what is mortal life to an Angel?), cutting the connection (which temporarily drove the connected angels _insane_ \- Jesus, what kind of hoodoo is this- until), and finally brainwashing said angels into forgetting they'd been connected in the first place. After the whole debacle, all of the angels were summarily changed and brainwashed and whatever else needed to be done to make them stony sexless bastards (thereby hindering the whole 'consummate three ways to sunday' thing).

Except, apparently, sexless was a bit more fluid for archangels, especially if said archangel had fallen and been almost completely ignored thereafter. Not to mention they hadn't _completed_ the Bond, only most of it, enough, anyway, for them to be able to access each other's heads.

Dean was still kind of dumb-struck by the fact that Angels could be brain-washed, and that God had not only allowed it but enforced it (prat was seeming more and more accurate), he was even more befuddled by the idea that _Cas_ was an Archangel, not a Seraph, he'd just been put in his place one too many times to remember. Although, considering, with how buddy-buddy all the other, older, memory intact Archangels acted around him, in retrospect it kinda makes sense.

"How the hell does this work?" He finally asks with hoarse exasperation.

"Didn't I just tell you?" Sam huffs indignantly, and, hey, _rude_.

"Well, yeah, but I mean, can he hear us?"

"If you pray to him, yes, otherwise, I'm playing telephone."

"This so weird."

"He kind of thinks so too, he never expected to be able to, let alone allowed, and--" Sam cuts himself off, makes several faces that Dean is going to assume means he's having a silent convo with fucking Lucifer in his head, before he finally sighs and says, "you deserve _everything_ you idiot." With such fucking fondness, and this small soft smile, that Dean is seriously surprised there aren't puppy dogs and rainbows spontaneously popping up around him.

"Jesus Christ, for Satan he sure is adorable, isn't he?" Bobby finally chimes in, a little croakily, and Dean can tell with one look that Bobby's as lost as he is.

"Yes." Sam grins without hesitation, and Dean groans.

What _is_ their life.

He's about to ask as much out loud when they hear something like a cracking of whips, and then there's Cas. Stupid fucking murderous idiot stood right in front of his fucking face with blood and broken bones and bubbling sores and a silent scream on his lips, blue eyes locked helplessly on Dean's before he's lurching forward. It's more instinct than any actual thought that allows Dean to catch him as he passes the fuck out on the spot, and Dean isn't gonna blame him necessarily, he looked like a goddamn torture victim.

"Oh Cas," he breathes, buckling with mild grace under the weight.

Sam curses, and Bobby is already coming over to assess the damage.

Dean just holds him, maybe rocks him a little, maybe hums some of the songs he's been singing with Sam to Lucifer lately, maybe prays that Cas'll actually make it out of this alive.

And if he's forgotten that he's supposed to be _angry_ not _worried_ , well, little brothers and their sappy romances can be bad influences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the minor cliffhanger, more chapters coming soon!!!  
> I really, really fucking love you guys, for reading, for commenting, for leaving kudos, for being your awesomely brilliant selves, seriously, you guys keep me sane, thank you, bear hugs, weepy doe eyes, all that :)


	10. When You're In A Pickle, Give Death Some Pickles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Cas plays chess, Dean offers Death the best fried pickle chips money can buy, and Samifer is fluffy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No Beta, all accidents are accidental, please forgive me!!!  
> Also, I love you guys, you're all awesome, thank you so goddamn much for reading.

He had seen Dean before the voices and the pain took him, he was sure of it. As sure of it as he could be anyway, in that faded, fuzzy state of mind where even his own name didn't make any sense.

So it's a little more than mildly surprising that the sight that meets his eyes when they open is a table, a chess board, and a little girl with an indulgent smile. He knows who he is now, he's vaguely aware that his name is Castiel and he's an Angel and he fucked up and he should be somewhere else but isn't and he doesn't really know why; but all of that is soft edges and little ripples and soothed waves. Everything is kind of calm, under layers of warmth and serenity.

It feels a little like drowning, only it's much more- pleasant?

He doesn't know.

It's nice. Not to worry, to be shit-scared and fighting everything every second of every day.

If he were in a better headspace he might notice that they're sitting in an endless field full of alien flowers that are singing lullabies to a liquid bejeweled sky that's held up by ancient trees with rich blood-red bark and silvery leaves; he might notice that the table is made of river-stone and runes; he might notice the fox kit with dragonic wings slumbering altogether too peacefully under it; he might notice that the little girl has solid green eyes that are ancient and kind and deadly and vaster than anything. But he's not. So he doesn't.

Long, tanned fingers decorated in muted blue henna set the pieces on the board, brush across the back of his hand to get him to pay attention, and then they're playing.

It feels natural.

Simple.

 _Safe_.

* * *

Death looks unamused.

Well, in all fairness, he always looks unamused; he's _Death_.

Dean smiles, the kind of charming smile he gives waitresses with low-riding everything and sultry gazes and sparkly lip gloss, and offers up a brown paper bag.

"Fried pickle chips," he tells him, "from Brooklyn, they're amazing, or so I- so I hear."

Death glares at him like he's gum on the bottom of his shoe, and it's too much trouble to scrape it off so he's planning on tossing said shoe in the incinerator first chance he gets. Dean thinks maybe he deserves that, a little, considering.

They didn't try to bind him, not like Lucifer had before. Luci was telling them, or telling Sam, the whole time how much Death had hated that. ("And a sulky Death is not an easy one to handle, by any means.") But apparently having a genius researcher baby brother and an incredibly clever well-versed fallen Archangel half mind-melded together and on their side was a fucking amazing thing, because around ten minutes after Cas had steam-rolled in and Dean had gotten enough gumption to stop rocking him and do the productive thing, actually carry him to the couch, Sam had laid runes all around him to keep him safe and _contained_ , because he wasn't just _Cas_ anymore, there were things _inside_ ; they had all promptly begun planning what to do. Needless to say, the dynamic duo provided exemplary ideas, and had more than enough hoodoo and wherewithal to back them all up.

Cas was in bad shape, he was just this side of exploding and letting out all those things he'd swallowed down in the first place, which, of course, meant instadeath, and apparently, Lucifer is pretty close to Castiel, favors him a bit, doesn't want him to die at all, who knew? In fact, according to Sam, Lucifer is still kind of mourning Gabriel, and could probably do with a win on the Heavenly family side instead of another goddamn loss, and that's just too fucking complicated to think on right now, so Dean's stowing it for later.

Point is, after thirty minutes, Sam and Satan had another, much less bloody, spell to open a gate to Purgatory, just enough (and with the actual purpose of, because this isn't the first time this has happened, Zeus tried it once, the dumbass had wanted some sort of Monster Mash Orgy) to dump all of the souls Castiel had consumed back into their rightful place, like a proverbial puke bucket for his supernatural food poisoning. They even had runes and spells and spirits to call upon to keep the slowly combusting Angel from dying in the process. Unfortunately, any and all Purgatory gates require a fucking Eclipse, and the only one who can jimmy one up on short notice? Yep, you got it. Death.

So, while Sammy and Luci prep and spell and generally fuss over a comatose Cas, he's over here with Bobby trying to appease a Reaper older than time, possibly older than _God_ , with fried pickle chips from Brooklyn.

And Death is _not_ amused.

Fucking hell.

Here goes nothing.

* * *

Sam has done all he can for now, so it's just a waiting game at this point, until Dean comes back and tells them if he's convinced Death to do the thing; they're all pretty screwed if he can't.

Lucifer had chuckled at one point that they'd done all that world-saving, even eliminated their biggest threat by causing him to fall in love (which made Sam melt and coo a little, he's not even gonna lie), only to be felled by something so human and simple as a mistake.

A war.

Team Free Will, indeed.

The Devil on his shoulder, or in his head as the case may be, had also gone on a bit of a tangent about Free Will being why this was happening. All the Angels, devoted slaves they used to be, would've bowed and become unresponsive without a leader before. Now? They were confused, panicked, angry, trying to reconcile their love for a Father who had abandoned them with their duty to him and thereby to humanity. Their reaction to the aborted apocalypse was extremely telling.

Sam and Lucifer were _both_ kind of wondering when exactly it had started.

Sam was sat cross-legged on top of the coffee table in front of the couch and, subsequently, his charge. He had a heaping plate of eggs (cooked several different ways) and toast in his lap.

 _You with the eggs, again? Really?_ Luci sounded mildly amused, but Sam was blinking dumbly at the wall for several long moments before he could articulate a response.

"Dude," he says slowly, "I never told you what I was eating, how could you-"

_I could taste it, like a memory, or an aftertaste. I've told you all I know about these Bonds, the Mating Bond we're creating with each other, but I've never experienced it myself, and it isn't even fully formed yet. I honestly have no idea how far this goes, how much we'll be sharing..._

Sam hums, takes another bite and smiles, "I don't mind. I love you. It's nice, it's so much better than- than nothing, than you not- not here. Not with me. I like it."

 _I love you too._ comes the purring response, and honestly? Sam will _never_ get tired of that.

Another bite.

"... 'S'it taste good?"

_It tastes amazing._

"Cool."

_I bet you taste better._

Sam will not admit to the choking, sputtering, undignified squawking, and ridiculous blush that proceeds that comment. Because it never, ever happened.

* * *

The little girl wins twice.

He wins once, and she throws her head back and laughs, a nice tinkling little sound that surrounds them and makes Castiel grin in return.

She tells him his family is doing everything they can to keep him safe, that she owes the Morningstar a favor so she's looking after him right now, that Morningstar doesn't remember the favor because he can't see things like she does, that it hasn't happened yet but it will soon enough and it's too complicated to follow but Castiel nods along anyway because her voice is soft and she's a child and he thinks children are fantastic and creative so it's fine if he doesn't understand.

She tells him that the price he will have to pay for being in her realm is remembering everything; _everything_ , she had said solemnly, like she knew he wouldn't get it but she needed him to know it was important.

She smiled at him sadly, then, and reset the pieces on the board.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to move the plot along, but I also really, really wanted Samifer fluff and Death being Death and Dean being Dean and all.  
> Yes, Cas is in a weird dream state that's kinda similar to sub-space with a Goddess person we know nothing about, don't worry, he's being well taken care of ;)  
> Anyway, I love you merciful, wonderful, gorgeous unicorns! I hope you all liked this chapter, more shall be coming fairly soon, have a great fucking day, and enjoy life because life is awesome.  
> Muah!!!


	11. Another Day, Another Creepy Ass Dollar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Lucifer reminisces about his little brother, while they all work to save him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, I know! It's been a long ass time, and I'm so, so fucking sorry- IRL and writers' block are the most lethal combination, and I must confess I've been distracted by other works, the horrible terrible human being that I am- but I swear I'll do better.  
> My apologies for any and all errors, as always, I have no Beta, and I do try, but I'm only human.  
> Alright! Without further ado...

Solid glittering emerald eyes rested watchfully on him as he reset the pieces again, he smiled sweetly at her, she smiled indulgently back.

"The Eclipse is coming, it's almost time," she told him quietly, as they began another game in the timeless cycle Castiel was beginning to feel they'd always shared. He remembered little else but for the game and the girl and the field, but it didn't bother him. It was nice here, peaceful.

He supposed some distant part of him felt there was something missing but he didn't know why or what and- though at first, he had felt odd asking, like questioning, would be the most terrible atrocity- whenever he asked the little girl told him it was okay to miss his family, that he'd return to them soon, and she was sorry for keeping him for so long.

She treated his questions like precious things, which made him feel only slightly better about having to leave. He wondered if she'd ever have anyone else to play with when he was gone.

* * *

An Eclipse was scheduled, Death, despite his quibbling and snark, had agreed that shoving shit back into Purgatory was the right thing to do. Dean had a sneaking suspicion that the Reaper's acquiescence had more to do with the fucking pickles than the apocalypse, but he ignored his ire, because right now? They had shit to do.

Like, for instance, dragging Cas into the woods, apparently.

"Really, Sam?" He was grousing, as he and Sam carried the dead-weight of Castiel, Bobby walking ahead of them, looking for a suitable clearing. "We have to drag the comatose Angel through the creepy ass woods with three jars of blood to do an even creepier ass spell? Because _that_ isn't a cliche at all."

"However cliched it is, it'll work." Sam grinned at him.

Dean could only shake his head and give a small, fond smile back. He was worried about Cas, worried about the _world_ , about whether or not this would work, about everything, but honestly? He was worried about Sam least of all.

His little brother, ever since the almost-complete-bond had formed enough for Lucifer and him to communicate, had become one thousand times more stable; he was still different in all the same ways as before, but he could smile again, he looked less haunted, more vibrant, there was life in his eyes again. The confidence of his presence was lifting everyone's spirits, and even though he didn't have a line on Luci like Sam did, he was pretty sure that even the fallen Archangel in the Cage was feeling this.

It had only been mildly surprising to find out how willing Lucifer was to help them with this, kind of striking to hear that 1) the guy felt honestly guilty over killing Gabriel, 2) he was actually tired of killing his fellow archangels, 3) he'd always had a soft spot for Castiel, anyway.

They'd actually had several small talks while Sam was researching the exact way to do the spell Luci had suggested (it was Old Magic, they were improvising some) about Castiel's antics when he was younger. The guy had apparently always been curious. It wasn't the same as Lucifer, who was rebellious, willful, and outraged- it was smaller, softer, kinder. He just had questions.

But for the Heavenly Host, questions meant doubt. So, his curiosity had always been rebutted, treated as a sin, something to be bullied into submission for. That just meant that instead of asking, Castiel would explore, do stupid shit to find the answers on his own.

He'd accidentally turned himself into the most angelic version of a cat at one point, gotten himself trapped in an exploding star at another.

("It's really no surprise that he'd do something like this without consulting anyone, given his history; although I am a little shocked about _why_ he did it, even though he probably knew you'd never forgive him after." Sam had parroted what Lucifer was saying to him, making his voice an odd drawl just for the humor of it.

Dean had rolled his eyes at him, then: "What do you mean?"

"Well, he did it for you lot, did he not? To save your world from Apocalypse take 2, to save you from having to fight that fight again?"

Sam and Dean had looked at each other with wide eyes at that.

"Idiot," Sam had muttered, and Dean could only agree.

Lucifer had interjected, lightly, with the fact that if Raphael _had_ managed to free him, all he would've done was go cuddle Sam, that he couldn't even contemplate destroying the world anymore, not when it was the world they all lived in- the world his mate _loved_.

"Oh my _God_ , you guys are so gross." Sam, at least, had had the decency to blush- but he was still smiling like a dopey love-sick oversized puppy.

Yeah, fuck everything, after they sorted out Cas and Purgatory they were jailbreaking Satan, finding a way to make him a semi-permanent vessel, and setting up a stable safe-house somewhere where gay marriage was legal.)

Finally, they managed to find a semi-circular parting of trees, there were flowers and bushes and a small stream, and, of course, it wasn't a _very_ open space- but they would be able to see the moon, and Sam had decreed that it was enough.

They set Cas down, beginning to prepare the spell work- mostly it involved blood mixed with clay, using the mixture to draw runes on the trees around them, Sam chanting something complicated and creepy sounding, and Bobby and Dean putting a circle of the mixture around the two of them- three rings, then Bobby and Dean sitting on either side of Cas, with Sam sitting by his head, and them joining hands while Sammy continued chanting.

"This would be easier with a Coven," Sam is saying as he sits at Cas' head, carding his fingers through his hair in an oddly comforting gesture.

"Dude. We aren't witches." Dean growled, narrowing his eyes.

"C'mon, man, get over yourself, not all magic is Demonic or terrible in nature, and besides, this is the safest way possible to get all of the misfit toys back to their island without harming our little reindeer."

"I think it says something about our lives," Bobby chimes in, "that referencing Rudolph the Rednose Reindeer is actually creepier than saying it straight out in all of it's fucked up glory."

Sam just snickers like it's the funniest goddamn thing in the world.

"Alright," Dean sighs, checking his watch, "it's almost time. Let's get this shit-show over with."


	12. The Remembering, and A Promise of Redemption

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been absent and a horrible author to you guys, I know, I know, I'm sorry, I've got no excuses.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter, and know that I love you guys, and there will be more coming soon; I didn't abandon this fic, I just got a little blocked with it. I'm sorry. Thanks for sticking it out with me :)

"Castiel," the girl murmurs, standing from their chess table and rounding it to get to him. She pulls him up, gentle, pressing a tender kiss to his temple as she does so.

She bids him to leave, and a door appears in front of him. He doesn't quite want to go, but she reminds him he has family waiting on the other side, and _memories_. So, he goes.

* * *

His chanting rises up into the air like the acrid billow of smoke, a biting, commanding rumble that promises _fire_ on its' heels.

The tapestry of his voice ascends, and the sky _opens_ , like a maw of swirling darkness, no stars, clouds, or comforting familiarity; it opens wide and looks as if to swallow them whole.

Sam closes his eyes, breathes in the magic, reaches out mentally for the comfort of Lucifer in his mind, feels the Archangel's presence surround him. His prayer ends on a throaty, solemn command:

_"Release him!"_

And, whether or not the monsters want to, they _do_. Castiel screams as inky-slop souls are extracted from his vessel, pulled up into the vacuum of the portal in the sky. The souls shriek their protest, try to sink claws deeper, to hold on, but they're incapable of fighting this spell, especially when Cas seems to become vaguely aware in the middle of it and starts _pushing_ the lot of them, continuing to scream, although whether it's with the pain or the shock or the effort, Sam doesn't know.

It takes _hours_ , but _finally_ , finally, all of the dead monsters- _including_ Leviathan, Sam made fucking _sure_ \- are returned to their respective afterlife. The portal closes. Castiel takes deep greedy gulps of air like he's never tasted it before, even though his lungs don't _need_ it.

"Cas," Dean begins, sounding just the slightest bit shaky.

 _:Give him a moment,:_ Lucifer murmurs, _:he- he's praying to me. I think he's remembering, Sam.:_

"Remembering what?" He asks, Bobby giving him a quizzical look.

Cas sits up abruptly, grinding his palms into his eyes, his breath getting wet and shaky in a way the normally proceeds _crying_. "Cas?" Dean tries again, tentatively touching the angel's shoulder, making him jump about three feet in the air and turn to him like he honestly wasn't expecting him to be there.

 _:Everything,:_ Lucifer answers him, just as Castiel's whole face fucking _crumples_.

"Dean," he whispers, rough, cracked, which has Dean looking a little terrified and very, _very_ concerned. Then the angel launches himself at him, presses his face into Dean's neck, curls into him with a full-body shudder as he genuinely does start crying. Dean is only wide-eyed confused for a moment before- with something like grim determination- he wraps his arms around Cas and starts hushing him, soothing him, and, quietly, very quietly, _singing_ to him.

* * *

They get back to Bobby's house eventually, Cas still clinging to Dean, and Dean still letting him. They all clean up as best they can before reconvening in the living room, a little worse for wear, but having successfully done the thing they were trying to do. It's unfortunate as hell when a win comes with this much uneasiness, though. Sam's the only one who seems to be clear-headed and undaunted by everything, bringing in cups of coffee for everyone, _including_ Cas, which makes the angel give him a stiff smile of appreciation before his face falls again.

"Cas," Dean murmurs, next to him on the couch, the angel's hand fisted in his shirt, like he's afraid if he lets go Dean will just float away, leave him at the toss of a coin, "you're kinda freakin' me out here, man."

Cas flicks a timid look up at him, "I'm sorry. I know you all must be... very _angry_ with me right now. What I did- I was-" he opens his mouth closes it, opens it again, and snaps it shut with a shake of his head. "There's no excuse. I slaughtered leagues upon leagues of my brothers and sisters, more of _your_ kind, and all for- for-"

"Hubris," Sam finishes for him, "but also love. You were trying to save us from the fate Rafael had planned, trying to save the _world_ , because hanging with the Winchesters can, apparently, be very inspiring, huh?"

Castiel blinks at him, Sam hides his smile in his mug, taking a gulp of coffee before continuing, "Look, Cas, I don't know about these guys, but. You made a mistake. I've already forgiven you for it, although there will, no doubt, be consequences because, like you said, you did a _lot_ of really shitty things in a very short amount of time. But. You weren't completely _present_ were you? Not all of you, anyway."

"No," Cas agrees softly, and Dean feels very, very confused.

"Uh, guys?" Bobby chimes in, "You wanna maybe fill us in, here?"

"I... _remembered_ ," Cas tells them, fingers curling more securely in Dean's shirt. "My life as an angel has been much, _much_ longer than I ever realized, and my traipses with disobedience far more... _extensive_. I was. Where Lucifer's favorite question was always _why_ , I think mine was always _what_. I wanted to know _everything_ , what it was, how it worked, and where Lucifer asked or sometimes, whether or not he meant to be malicious about it, started some riotous thing or other to get the answers he sought, I just went out _looking_.

"I was never envious of humans, because I always _loved_ them, but I was _curious_ about them, their ways and hearts and morals; I was curious about our Father, too, and about a great many other things, and it was that curiosity, along with my capacity to _doubt_ and to _question_ and to want my own personhood, my own moral-structure to _thrive_ \- it was all that that caused them to wipe me over, and over, and _over_ again. I must confess, it's a little hard to reconcile myself with _myself_ , right now, but I do know three things with absolute certainty:

"I am an _archangel_ , the last archangel to be made by the hand of God, I am greatly pained and _sorry_ for my actions and the pain they have caused, and... Nobody could ask for a better family than the one I seem to have acquired," he flashes a bit of a smile at the three of them. "That is, if I am still welcome?"

He sounds so child-like and goddamned hopeful and more _human_ than Dean has ever heard him. He's different, now, Dean can tell, but it's just. It's like it's all more _saturated_ , like the reality of him is more tangible, like he is finally _himself_.

"Well, you've still got a lot to do, to redeem yourself, but. We're family; I'm personally a big fan of the Lilo & Stitch principle-" Sam snorts, and Dean raises his eyebrows, points a finger at him, "Hey, you loved that movie when you were a kid, you made me watch it with you, like, three thousand times. Don't be a bitch." Sam raises the hand not holding his coffee mug in supplication, conceding, and Dean returns to Cas, who's looking at him with this wide-eyed heart-aching sort of trepidatious joy- "nobody gets left behind," he finishes softly, earnest, and Cas breaks into the widest, brightest, most beatific grin he's ever fucking _seen_ , before he surges forward, wrapping his arms around Dean's neck.

"I _will_ redeem myself," he breathes, joy in the tender of his deep voice, "I swear to you Dean, I will."

"I know," Dean murmurs with a sigh, gentling a hand down Cas' back without even thinking about it, sending a prayer of thanks to Lucifer with a small, wry smile, "I know."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *happy birthday to me, I'm stuck in a tree, Destiel is adorable, and Samifer is deplorable; happy birthday to me, this chapter is so fluff _y_ , because! Samifer is adorable, and Destiel is deplorable!*
> 
> lmao
> 
> I hope you enjoyed ^^


	13. Welcome To Team Free Will

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Dives head-long into plot and promptly keels over*, lol

The vestiges of heaven were not prepared for the Angel who'd swallowed Purgatory whole to return as an _Arch-_ angel with the astral projections of two hunters by his side, just as they hadn't been prepared for the war he _made_ on Heaven in order to claim dominance over them. Some Angels cowered, some Angels lifted their wings and their chins and claimed fealty, some claimed _tyranny_ , raising their _swords_ against what they perceived as a false God.

But none of them, not one, got what they expected when he returned after his stint commanding the humans to cleave to him as much as the Angels.

He was taller, prouder, _cleaner_ , though the weight of his guilt was suddenly a heavy, burdensome thing, but he was, somehow, capable of bearing that weight with a newfound grace, a _confidence_ that he hadn't had in _millennia_. The power pooling around him was _bright_ , brighter than Raphaels, more akin to Gabriel's than anything, though his was light, airy-cotton where Gabriel's was alluring, honey-silk. And he did not come to fight, as some might've guessed, turned away the Angels who wished for battle with a gentle smile and a _push_ they were unable to ignore, unable to defy. He came to- with the help of the Winchesters- explain free-will, _kindness_ , cruelty, _humanity_ , and that, while he would not guess at their Father's mind, he could only hope that, in leaving- irregardless of whether or not it could be deemed _abandonment_ \- he _gave_ them that. A power of choice they'd never had before, the ability to lead or be led and figure it out amongst themselves.

It was a _big_ sentiment, complex and intricate, and a hard pill to swallow, but there it was, that was it, _this_ was it.

He went on to tell them that they could open the Cage if they wanted to, because Lucifer wasn't going to _start_ any Apocalypse, he didn't even _want_ one, anymore. And, in fact, one of the Winchesters showed signs of the beginnings of a _mating_ bond with him; indisputable proof that he was, absurdly, _on their side_ \- Team Free Will, they called themselves, and left it up to them whether they wanted to be a part of it or not, because, either way, Castiel was retiring, he'd made a _family_ for himself, and God wasn't even _around_. It was time, he'd said, for him to leave the nest.

If they caused trouble on earth, well, the Winchesters were hunters- they'd do what they had to do- if they didn't, and didn't go with him, as some seemed wont to do, then goodbye, and well wishes.

Then they were _gone_ , as quickly as they'd come.

It was an end to what seemed like a very, very long plan; _God's_ perfect plan.

There was no bang, no Heaven on Earth, no finality, no design, just a breath, and the whole chaotic world full of _choices_.

It was terrifying. It was awe-inspiring. It was a _beginning_ , and none of them even realized it.

* * *

"Do you really think any of them will take to it?" Bobby asks, when they wake up from their dream-root induced Heavenly vacation, Castiel popping into the room with that familiar, sudden, subtle _whoosh_.

"I took to it," He smiles, an expression that's still got that whole _angelic blandness_ to it, but is somehow steeped in its' own sort of humanity, now.

"Yeah," Bobby agrees, sardonic, "by tryin'a take over the _world_ , you idjit."

Cas, wisely, winces, and goes quiet.

Dean shakes his head with a huff, opening his mouth to say something, he's not even entirely sure _what_ , when four other Angels appear in Bobby's living room out of nowhere- _not_ in riot gear, no swords or snarls or shitty arguments about providence on the tip of their tongues. Dean's eyebrows raise, and he subtly goes for the angel-blade in his pocket, just case.

And _Cas_ , he just fucking _smiles_ , and says, "Hello, sisters."

The other four angels smile _back_.

Dean, dumbfounded, leans to the side to catch Sam's eye, since he's on the other side of the room and Dean's view of him is obstructed by random heavenly envoys. In their _living room_. No, it _doesn't_ escape him what a clusterfuck their lives are, thank you.

Sam just shrugs, intelligently, and makes a slight gesture to his head that Dean is going to take to mean that he'll look into it with their contact _downstairs_ , as soon as they get enough relevant information for him to ask relevant questions, but for now, all they can do is wait and see what happens.

Dean flicks out his hand a little, subtly indicating his blade, Sam grimaces and shakes his head. Great, if this gets ugly, his little brother doesn't really have a weapon to defend himself. He'll have to play it quick, duck away from the one in front of him and kill the one in front of Sam and hope to god Cas will be able to defend Bobby. He's got about eight more battle plans running through his head within the four milliseconds it takes for one of the Angels to step forward, and say, "Hello, brother. My name is Hannah, and I would like to accept your offer, to join the, um. Team Free Will?"

Dean blinks, startled, and before Cas can respond, says, "Wait, _seriously?"_

In a light, sugar-water sort of voice, complacent, confident, ethereal, she says, "Yes."

"And," says the one beside her, short, skinny, young, her voice is deep, rocky, reminds him of Ellen in a way that makes his gut twist painfully, "in spirit of our joining, we have something to offer you."

"Something," says the third, strawberry blonde, classy, comely, with the kind of dominant defiance and intelligence sparkling in her wide sharp-mint green eyes that makes him think more _demon_ than _angel_ , "that we'd like to share with the whole Host, but we'd need a certain amount of... _protection_ , first, since most would kill us for sharing our secrets."

"Many have already tried," the fourth, a tall, handsome woman, a little older, with dark skin and dark hair and a whispery, lullaby sort of voice, all melodic, low-rasp timbre, and the kind of sage that tells of years and _years_ spent cultivating wisdom in dark, shadowed corners, where no one would be able to pluck it like so many weeds.

"So you don't _actually_ want to join Team Free Will," Dean muses, his suspicion slowly ebbing away, "you just want a bodyguard detail so you can- what? Sell the tooth-faerie a castle full of teeth?"

 _"Dean,"_ Sam sighs, exasperated, but he's smiling, Dean can tell.

"What?"

"Dude, your analogies leave so much to be desired, _so much_."

The teen-pop fey-svelte one makes a face that's just this side of disgusted and just that side of confused, "Teeth? Why would we- what are you-?"

"Analogy, Laylah," the strawberry-blonde one snaps, rolling her eyes dramatically. "It was an _analogy_ , and I swear to our Father, if you _don't_ know what an analogy is, I'm going to throw a _dictionary_ at you."

Dean mouths, _'I like her'_ , to Sam, who snorts silently, and Dean shrugs, unabashed, _'she's feisty'_.

Laylah clicks her teeth at the other woman in a surprisingly animalistic manner, and strawberry-blonde raises a very precise, judgemental eyebrow. The older one isn't even trying to hide her warm, dotingly fond smile at their antics, where Hannah just watches, curious, indifferent, implacable. After a bit of a staring contest between the two women, Laylah finally heaves a sigh, conceding, "Please don't throw anything at me, Ariel; I genuinely have no idea what that word could possibly mean, and I'd _very_ much like to know what it has to do with _teeth_."

The strawberry-blonde- _Ariel_ \- groans, throwing her hands in the air, as the elder of them bursts into fond laughter.

"Oh, sister," she sighs, indulgent and filled with the kind of nurture that could probably make flowers bloom, trees grow, and supervillains weep for their mothers. "You have been gone from this place for too long."

Laylah smiles slightly, but it's a wan sort of thing.

"Though it was through no fault of your own," she murmurs, just as motherly, but far less jovial, the lightness gone.

Ariel flicks her wrist, a cutting motion that's almost as sharp as her long, elegant nails, as her piercing, emerald-blade gaze. "No," she agrees, "and I'm not throwing anything, promise, darling; though I may well set something on _fire_ if we don't get through this by sunset."

"No one's setting anything on _fire_ ," Hannah says, prim, her voice still mostly toneless.

"Sisters," Castiel cuts in mildly, though the corners of his lips are twitching up, and Dean gets this odd feeling he's enjoying this, because it's his _family_ , free, _embracing_ their freedom, _bickering_ , as only siblings do, and they're _here_ , with him. He'd been prepared, Dean knows, to give them all up, the whole of the Heavenly Host- he'd disconnected from Angel-Radio and everything- and as validating as it may have been, to see Cas choosing _them_ , he remembers how he felt when Sam went away to Stanford, _worse_ , how he felt when Sam _died_. Cas had been willing to give up the _whole_ of his Angelic family, with the exception of Lucifer, but it might be _nice_ , if he doesn't _have_ to.

Dean blinks, almost startled with himself, and he wonders why that thought was startling, and then he realizes. The suspicions went out the window about two minutes ago, and- before Lucifer- it was always, ingrained, instinct, _pull_ \-- _always_ , us against them. This is different, not just the situation, but his _perception of it_.

Huh, he thinks, and decides to send a little prayer of thanks to dear old Lucy, yet again, because he's pretty sure, in another time, if he were another him, he wouldn't be anywhere near as accepting, and he would _never_ step up and say: "Even _without_ whatever you're peddling- because, seriously, you don't owe us _anything_ , this isn't about that, it's... it's _family_. If you're with us, _you're with us_ , for good, not a protection thing, not a quid pro quo thing, but a helping each other out thing," he spreads his hands out, wide, almost inviting, "a fighting against the monsters and keeping the world safe thing, too, but also," he shrugs. "A teaching feathery dunder-heads what the hell it means to be human thing. So," he gives them each a hard, assessing look, "are you sure this is what you want?"

Laylah's eyes go wide and bright, Ariel's gleam with something ambitious and decidedly proud, pleased, the sagely woman beams, earthy, sugar-soaked and _entirely_ genuine. Hannah looks as placid as ever.

Cas is beaming at him like Dean just wrapped himself up in sunlight and offered him the goddamned _world_ , his eyes are freaking _sparkling_ , Jesus.

Bobby and Sam are silently judging him, because that was a chick-flick moment, and they _all_ know it, but he can feel them both glowing with pride from over here, and he hopes they know they're not fooling anybody, because they're just as bad as him, goddamn it.

Hannah nods, elegant, Ariel grins, all teeth and steal, Laylah agrees, excited and overwhelmed, and the sagely one actually, unexpectedly, unashamedly, _hugs_ him (He hears Sam stifle a guffaw at his startled noise, and promises to make him pay for it later).

"Well, then," he manages, when she distances herself enough for him to feel comfortable again- _breathing room_ , ah, how he'll miss it, in a house full of Angels with goddamn personal space issues. He can see Bobby's gears turning, too, because his house is decidedly _not_ big enough for this shit.

Oh, well; in for a penny, in for a pound.

"Welcome to Team Free Will, ladies."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annnnndddd, I'm only thirty minutes late! lol


End file.
